


The road before

by androbeaurepaire



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batdad, Bruce is a lying liar who lies, Dick is a hurt and angry baby, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hidden Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, Motorcycles, Panic Attacks, but they're together in this and they will be okay, i took some part of canon and framed them, then i took some others and flipped them the bird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:05:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androbeaurepaire/pseuds/androbeaurepaire
Summary: There was a time, long ago, when Dick Grayson didn't know who his guardian was. They weren't Batman and Robin yet. They were just Bruce and Dick.And they rode.





	The road before

**Author's Note:**

> I have been obsessed with that headcanon for so long now, and certain parts of canon have been so mean to me lately, that it felt only natural to try and exorcise with a fic.
> 
> This is only the second story ever I wrote in english, so I apologize in advance for all the language mistakes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy ♥

Dick didn't even realized he had closed his eyes, until a very large hand suddenly wrapped around his and squeezed two times, briefly. 

 

_ ‘Everything okay ?’ _ was that meant to ask.

 

Dick resisted the urge to shake himself, pressed as he was against Bruce's back, and squeezed his guardian's waist as well as he could, which was the answering gesture for  _ ‘Yes, everything okay.’ _

 

He hoped the leather of their motorcycle gear would be thick enough to absorb the lie like it did the wind.

 

Resting his head between Bruce's shoulder blades, the helmet making the position terribly awkward for his neck, Dick closed his eyes again, consciously this time. Riding with Bruce had never felt uncomfortable before, because Dick usually knew how to relax and lean back as they sped up. Shifting his weight to follow the curves of the road wasn’t really that different from keeping his balance on a tightrope, after all, and he had always been a quick learn anyway. They’d been doing those escapades for a while, the two of them, and Dick had always loved it. Days like these, when Bruce would come home and go change out of his three pieces suits to put on his black pants, black boots and black leather jacket, they usually meant the world to Dick. He would dress up in his own gear twice as fast, go retrieve both his helmet and Bruce’s, and race him to the garage crying in joy.

 

Days like these usually meant speed and fun and  _ together _ . 

 

Not apart, lying, and uncomfortable.

 

He jumped a little when Bruce touched his hand again, lightly this time, and Dick felt them  turn right and slowing down.  _ ‘We’re pulling over.’ _

 

He knew he was screwed.

 

Two months of living with Bruce, and he had never ever wished  _ not _ to be with him. He had never wished to be anywhere but here, riding at Bruce’s back, clutching at him and waiting for him to tell Dick this was a mistake. That this couldn’t work, and that they wouldn’t ride back to the Manor together.

 

He had never wished he had always hated riding with Bruce, but this time he did. 

 

It would have made everything easier.

 

Bruce stopped the engine and Dick felt the massive weight of the vehicle tip them both to the side, as he pulled one stand and then the other. That was supposed to be Dick’s clue for jumping down the seat and letting Bruce dismount as well.

 

Neither of them moved.

 

_ “I hate it here. It’s just another prison. You all lied to me, you all lie all the time and I hate it. I hate it and I hate you and I hate HIM.” _

 

The echo of his own words ringed in Dick’s ears, leaked from them like poison as he clutched harder to Bruce’s waist. Everything felt wrong. His feet wouldn’t move, his arms wouldn’t open, weighed down by the boots and jacket, the leather and straps suddenly heavy and constricting, making it hard to breathe. Why ? Why did it have to feel like that ? The motorcycle gear was supposed to make him feel good, it had always been, the same way wearing his glittery and brightly colored tights and leotard had felt before, like stripping down normal and putting on strength and power and happiness and freedom. That was what it all had always been about, flying and riding. Before the night. Before the scream. Before his parents fell and before Bruce lied to him. Why did he have to lie ? Why did Dick have to felt like that again, why did-

 

“Dick, Dick. _ Dick _ ! Calm down, chum. Calm down and breathe, please.”

 

Bruce’s voice was muffled by Dick’s helmet, that he hadn’t taken off. Big gloved hands were fumbling under his chin, undoing the catch as fast as possible, and Dick lifted his head just in time for the poison to spew as the helmet came off.

 

“-hate you,  _ I hate you _ , why did you tell me you wanted to help, why did you take me out of -of  _ there _ , if you just wanted to ditch me and not be here and LIE,  _ LIE _ ,  **_liar_ ** , you and Alfred, I hate, hate, ha-”

 

He couldn’t see anything anymore, couldn’t hear anything but Bruce’s voice that was saying his name, calling him in the dark, the same voice that could always calm him down after a nightmare, the voice that could tell him  _ “I’m on the other side of the country. I’m sorry I can’t make it home tonight, chum.”  _ over the phone yesterday morning and tell Alfred  _ “I need to be in Gotham tonight” _ over the same phone yesterday night, after Alfred had told him very angrily  _ “Stay downstairs, Master Bruce” _ . Downstairs. 

 

Right there in the manor, with them, with Dick, just under his feet, like the garage, where all the cars and bikes were parked and where Dick would always race him and win because he was happy, because Bruce was there and they were going to ride, they were going to fly and Dick was not in prison anymore. Except he was, he was, he had always been, Bruce had lied, Bruce didn’t want to help him, he just wanted to trap him, to make him heavy, to not want him to breathe, to-

 

“Dick ! Dick, please, sweetheart, calm down, you’re-”

 

“Let me go, let me go! Let me -GO!!”

 

Arms were around him, black, black, black, covered in leather and heavy, just like him, and Dick was kicking and screaming, trying his best to get away, to rip himself off the black and the heaviness. Big gloved hands were fumbling all over him again, but this time to unzip his leather jacket and strip him of it, and suddenly Dick was free and light and he kicked so hard they fell. Bruce was still holding him, and Dick felt him twitch under him as they tumbled over so Dick wouldn’t be the one to hit the ground. The shock was not enough to make him still though, as he felt the leather of Bruce’s jacket under his cheek, and he screamed so hard he felt Bruce flinch away from him. Or maybe that was just so Bruce could unzip his own jacket as well and toss it away, because when he wrapped Dick in his arms again the only thing Dick could feel was soft. Soft and warm and breathing, breathing deeply, large muscled chest pressing against his and guiding him through the motions, up and down, in and out, until he couldn’t help but follow and start breathing again on his own.

 

“That’s right, chum”, Bruce whispered as Dick went limp in his arms. “You’re okay. I’m here. I’m sorry I wasn’t before. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry.”

 

It was like that night again. That night when he had told Dick he was sorry but wasn’t, had not been telling the truth, but also  _ that _ night, when he had held Dick close just he was right now and let him scream, face buried in his soft, warm chest as he was breathing for him as well. 

 

That night when he hadn’t been wearing a leather jacket but a long, elegant looking coat, black already and safe all the same. He’d seen that coat from afar with his parents at first, excited to learn they were going to perform before the most famous man of Gotham. 

 

He’d seen it again not even an hour later, this time from very, very close. It hadn’t looked so elegant anymore then, stained with tears and snot and being used to muffle Dick’s screams, just like Bruce’s sweater was right now.

 

Dick felt himself shiver as the cold wind hit the damp side of his face that wasn’t hidden. Bruce rolled to the side just a little so he could shield him without Dick touching the frozen ground.

 

“I am going to let go of you for a second, chum. Just a second, I promise.”

 

Dick shivered again and tried to press himself closer in protest, but Bruce was faster and sat them both upright, letting go just as briefly as he’s promised so he could pull off his sweater and put it on Dick. The sweater was about six times too big for him, so Dick had to wriggle a little to actually find the right hole to fit his head through, but once he did, light hit him like a punch.

 

Bruce’s face was just as damp as his.

 

“Here”, his guardian said simply, voice raw and broken, as he pulled a tissue from his pocket and offered it to Dick, helping him blow his nose. There was a question in his eyes as he raised his arms to bring the boy close again, but Dick didn’t answer. He was still trembling, just not because of the cold anymore.

 

“You were hurt.”

 

Bruce blinked. “What ?”

 

Dick raised his arms too, but instead of wrapping them around Bruce’s neck he brought his hands to his face, and wiped. 

 

The foundation was thinner than any stage makeup he and his parents had ever worn, more refined and discreet. It still came off easily enough. Bruce’s tears had already done half the job anyway.

 

The bruise on his cheek and around his eye was so big Dick’s hand couldn’t even cover it all, even when he tried. 

 

“What happened ?”

 

“Dick-”

 

_ “What happened ??” _ yelled Dick, so loud he heard a bird take off a few feet away from them. 

 

Bruce stared at him with such an intense expression, the lines of his face suddenly so strange because of that bruise, so different from everything Dick was used to that he almost didn’t recognize him. Bruce was holding him like that night, and Dick couldn’t tell who he was looking at, again. It was like seeing him in that leather jacket all over again, the first time Bruce had come to see him at the juvie parlor three days after that night. The angry supervisor had told him  _ “Bruce Wayne wants to meet you” _ and Dick had braced himself for the long, elegant, tears and death stained black coat.

 

He had only seen young and soft instead.

 

_ “I apologize for not coming sooner” Mr Wayne had told him, putting his helmet on the table. “The judge's decision to send you there was a wrong one, and it took me some time to obtain a visit authorization.” _

 

_ “Why ?” Dick's throat had been so tight he didn't think he could have screamed again, even if he had wanted to. _

 

_ “Because they knew it was wrong. They knew there was plenty of other places you could have legally stayed during the investig-” _

 

_ “No. Why ? Why did you want to visit ?” _

 

_ Mr Wayne had looked at him for a long, impossibly quiet moment. _

 

_ “When I was your age, I saw the same thing you did. My parents were killed in front of me and... I screamed, too, that night. I never wanted to stop. I wanted to make myself deaf with it, so the sound of the gunshot would leave my ears. So I would forget. But it doesn't work that way, and I kept screaming for so long afterwards that I forgot everything -everything but what I didn't want to hear anymore.” _ __  
  


_ As he was speaking, Mr Wayne had knelt on the floor so he would be eye to eye with Dick, and had removed his gloves before offering him his hand. _

 

_ “There are still things for you to hear, Richard. And if you want to... If you would allow me, maybe I could help you.” _

 

Three days in Gotham’s juvie center, and it had taken Dick seeing Bruce Wayne in a motorcycle leather jacket instead of a coat to realize how easy it had been to almost forget what the last man who had shown him kindness looked like.

 

Two months at Wayne Manor, and it had taken one single lie to almost forget what that man looked like at all. 

 

One single lie, and now one single bruise.

 

“What happened ?” Dick asked again, much lower this time, his tiny hands still cupping Bruce’s battered face. It must be hurting him, touching him like that, but Dick was honestly too terrified to let go. 

 

Bruce didn't move, and slowly, shyly, as if he was just as terrified as Dick, he brought up his hands to cup his face as well. Dick didn't move, either.

 

“Sometimes in my work” he said, “I meet… people, with whom things do not always go well. It happens in that kind of job, when important matters are at stake. Not everyone plays nice.”

 

“You mean people did this to you because of  _ money _ ?”

 

“... Yes. And no. Dick, I didn’t want you to worry. I’m sorry I lied.”

 

“But you’re hurt !” Dick exclaimed, releasing Bruce’s face and gripping his t-shirt instead, noticing only now how cold Bruce’s fingertips were, how December’s wind had raised goosebumps along his naked arms. 

 

They, too, were covered in bruises.

 

Before he knew what was happening, Dick felt new, burning tears prickle helplessly in his eyes as he clutched at Bruce’s chest harder, desperate for breathe again.

 

“Are you gonna be killed too ?”

 

His voice was so thin even he didn’t hear it, but Bruce did, and he grabbed Dick’s hand to move it upwards and press it against his heart.

 

It was beating.

 

“I’m here, Dick” he said, leaning forward so their foreheads would touch, and his pale, hurt eyes would lock with his. “I promise. I got hurt at work because of lost, angry people who are now with the police and won’t hurt anyone else, and I hid downstairs so the doctor could take care of me without you seeing it. I’m sorry I lied and that I hurt you too. Alfred went along with my lie because he didn’t want you to worry either. But I’m here. I won’t ever let you be alone. I promise.”

 

_ “The judge accepted my request to start a procedure for guardianship.” Mr Wayne had said. It was the seventh day in a row he came back at the juvie parlor. It had been a whole week of faithful visits, quiet talks and amused answers to Dick’s relentless questions about the motorcycle parked outside. “They were proven to have made a mistake by sending you here, and as a compensation the court gave me license to also be foster home during the police investigation. So if… if you agree…” _

 

_ Dick hadn’t let Mr Wayne finish and had thrown himself into his arms. _

 

_ “Don’t leave me here” he had sobbed, hard, face buried against Mr Wayne’s leather jacket, the exact same way he had against his long, black coat. “Don’t let me be alone.” _

 

_ “I won’t”, Mr Wayne had whispered, holding him tight. Just as tight as that night. “I won’t ever let you be alone. I promise.” _

 

_ And Dick had believed him. _

 

Just like he did, now.

 

Again.

 

“If some… someone ever -ever hurt you again” Dick hiccuped, his arms wrapped around Bruce’s neck like he was trying to wrap him back in the sweater, “I will.. I will -I will ki-”

 

A hand covered his mouth.

 

“Don’t say that.” Bruce’s voice was rough, and just as hurt as his eyes. “Don’t ever say that.”

 

Dick jerked against him, but Bruce continued.

 

“Don’t ever say that”, he repeated. “What happened to your parents, someone did that to them. Someone took them from you and they had no right to do so. Nobody has right to take lives.”

 

Dick shook his head like a young horse refusing to walk, and kicked his guardian in the side.

 

Bruce flinched, and his face became so white Dick thought he was going to pass out. 

 

He held on though. He didn’t let Dick go.

 

“You’re so much more than what took your parents” Bruce said, eyes closed against the pain, sucking in breathe between his teeth as he brought Dick even closer. He was speaking in his ear, soft and broken, so the boy would hear him despite his angry trashing. “You’re so much more than death and vengeance. I know you’re angry. I know you are but you have to believe me.”

 

“You’re lying again” Dick cried, pulling Bruce’s hand away from his face. “You are, you’re... lying, liar, you’re… _They said they were just circus freaks !_ ” he yelled. “They said it was just what happened in circuses, freaks being trouble and killing each other. They said we would be finding and killing the murderer ourselves anyway, that there was no use… no use to look, no use to -to even try… to... _”_

 

He didn’t knew who had moved first, but at some point he had blinked, and he was curled up on Bruce’s chest again, all the fight gone out of him as he was held as tight as possible.

 

“They don’t know what they’re talking about” Bruce whispered, and Dick could feel his mouth in his hair, lips moving against his scalp as he rocked him back and forth, gently. As gently as his mother had been after the longest days of training, the ones that left Dick so tired and heavy he thought he would never be able to fly again. 

 

“How d’you know ?” Dick mumbled, somewhere between the rock hard muscles of Bruce’s shoulders and his still beating heart. 

 

“I know you. I know the boy your parents and Haley’s circus family have raised. He is kind and smart. He cries when he sees hurt. He loves riding, and climbing as high as possible on trees and chandeliers, so he can take a good look at the world and fly. It takes being extraordinary, to raise a boy like that.”

 

Dick said nothing, and wept. He wept for so long he didn’t know how his body held up, but never once did Bruce’s arms let him go, never once did his lips leave his hair - the bruised hug and kiss just as enduring as Dick’s tears.

 

When they opened their eyes again, the sun had already set.

 

“Aren’t you cold ?” Dick asked, throat so dry he had to actually cough a few times to let the words out.

 

“Are you ?” Bruce asked, as he stirred under him and stood up, picking Dick up as he did so and carefully maneuvering him on his left hip. “We’re gonna need those jackets back, you know. Will that be okay ?”

 

Dick unglued himself from Bruce and stared at him, squinting a little so he could make out the pale forms of his still naked arms and face in the dark. 

 

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, a shiver running along his spine as he touched the chilled skin, remembering all the bruises he couldn’t see anymore. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. You’ve done nothing wrong.” A kiss again, on his scrunched brow this time. “Dick, do you want to ride home ?”

 

_ Mr Wayne had helped him pack and led him outside the juvie detention center, carrying Dick’s duffel bag in one hand and holding out the stack of papers with Gotham’s District Court’s letterhead with the other, for the angry supervisor to sign. Dick had ignored him, eyes fixed on the door.  _

 

_ He had darted outside as soon as he had heard the pen’s cap click. _

 

_ Bruce’s motorcycle had been parked in its usual spot -the same place it had been all week, and the same way it had looked from day one to Dick. _

 

_ The same, except for the second helmet resting on the seat. _

 

_ “Do you want to ride home ?” Bruce had asked from somewhere above his head, but Dick hadn’t dared to look at him. Maybe this had just been a dream and he was going to wake up as soon as he would touch the vehicle.  _

 

“Put back your sweater, please” Dick whispered. “And your jacket.”

 

“Do you want to put back yours ?”

 

_ “I never rode a cycle before.” _

 

_ The gloved hand on his shoulder had felt like the first real thing in a long, long while. _

 

_ “I will teach you.” _

 

“Yes.”

 

Bruce must have remembered where he had thrown them because he found their abandoned gears in the dark almost immediately. He walked back to the motorcycle that was waiting for them and sat Dick down on the seat, giving him his jacket.

 

The leather didn’t feel heavy in his hands as he clothed himself. It felt good. 

 

A bit cold maybe, but they would warm it up again soon enough riding home.

 

Bruce’s hand found his despite the complete lack of light and Dick took the little key he was handing him, before crawling over the fuel tank and turning the ignition on. That was their ritual, ever since Bruce had taught him. He knew where the lock was.

 

The cycle’s headlight suddenly illuminated the scene as the engine flared to life. Dick sat back at his place and looked at Bruce as they were letting the machine idle a bit in the cold. 

 

His face was still horribly bruised, but he was smiling -that weird smile of his when the corner of his lips would barely lift, but his whole face suddenly looked softer.

 

“I have let Alfred know we’re heading back. I think the pizzas are on their way too.”

 

Dick lowered his eyes, thinking about how he had yelled at the butler in the morning and about what he had said. Bruce’s hand found his again, this time to give him his helmet back. 

 

“He understands why you were angry” Bruce told him, quietly. “I think the pizzas are his way to say he is sorry too.”

 

“Does he know who hurt you ?”

 

Bruce frowned.

 

“Dick-”

 

“I know” Dick said, with a sharp movement of his head he couldn’t help. “I know. It’s just… Maybe it’s easier for him. To not know who did that, and to -to not  _ want _ to know, if he… you know.”

 

“If he what ?”

 

“If he knew you were taken care of by the doctor, and he could be there with you.” Dick said really fast, not wanting to look at Bruce but ending up doing it anyway.

 

Bruce just stared at him and -not for the first time since Dick has known him, but this time was easier to understand- seemed at loss for words. 

 

This time was easier to understand, because now Dick knew Bruce could lie. Him saying nothing, him not knowing what to say, meant that he didn’t want to do so, at least.

 

“I used to help my mom and dad when they got hurt during training” he said, something a little like despair and a little like hope blooming in his chest. “I could help you too. Plus, I know makeup. I can help you do yours again if you don’t want Mr Fox to get worried, either.”

 

Bruce was still looking at him, silent, and his face wasn’t soft anymore. His face was  _ sad _ , and Dick couldn’t stand it. 

 

He couldn’t stand not holding on what he had almost seen in Bruce’s eyes, that thing Bruce hadn’t wanted to lie about again. The thing that made it okay not to know who hurt him, as long as Dick could help. 

 

The thing that made it okay to feel like he didn’t know who he was looking at sometimes, as long as Bruce didn’t let him be alone.

 

“I can help you” he repeated, making a motion to reach for his guardian’s face and touch the bruise again, but Bruce turned away and quickly put his helmet back on. 

 

“You should ask Alfred. He’s the one who taught me how to use makeup. Maybe there is more I can learn from both of you.”

 

Dick, whose heart had missed a few beats at the gesture, felt a surge of hope at the words. He scooted himself backwards on the seat as Bruce mounted the cycle, and tentatively wrapped his arms around the man’s waist again as they both settled in place.

 

“Alfred taught you how to do your makeup ?” he asked, half scared and half playful.

 

Bruce’s hand rested firmly on top of his.  _ ‘Hold on.’ _

 

And Dick did.

 

“He used to be an actor” Bruce said, kicking up the stands. 

 

“I thought he was an army doctor !”

 

“He was many things. He still is.”

 

Dick pressed himself against the leather jacket the same way he always did. 

 

It was warm and comfortable. 

 

“Did he teach you anything else ?”

 

Bruce’s face was hidden again, but the softness was in his voice this time.

 

“He taught me how to ride.”

**Author's Note:**

> My dad didn't leave my thoughts once as I was writing this, so that one is for him. Also you will pry silver age Alfred and his badass motorcyle skills from my cold, dead hands.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://androbeaurepaire.tumblr.com/) (and probably soon somewhere else as well) where I mostly commit fanart and yells about my Batman feelings.


End file.
